Memories
by HeswamtoFrance
Summary: A oneshot written for Megan9688's challenge. Mainly reliving memories through photographs.


A/N: Written for Megan9688's challenge. You had to use all the words that are bold and in italics, in one story. Here is my attempt, tell me what you think.

As I sat there in the _**silence**_ as I gazed into the _**picture**_, letting the happy memories rise, and fill my mind.

There she was, sitting under the _**moon**_, letting the _**magic**_ of the slowly descending twilight fill her soul, and engulf her being.

Her _**chocolate**_ brown eyes gazing at the small, delicate _**lady bug**_ on her lilywhite hand.

That was one of the most _**romantic**_ days we had spent together.

We had spent to entire day together in our meadow, just holding each other, perfectly still, reveling in each other's presences. We had been laying there for over an hour, before noticing a lady bug had landed on the tip of her finger. We both had just focused our gaze on it when this picture was taken. I don't know how she managed it, but my sister always seems to get the perfect pictures.

I turn the page, a new picture, a new set of memories, these not as happy.

There she was once more. Sitting in a _**sterile**_ hospital room. This was during our first trip to Phoenix.

She had once more done the brave thing; the courageous thing, the stupid thing. In doing so she left herself vulnerable to an evil, _**cruel**_ monster. She had done what she deemed right, but in the process she harmed herself, and nearly took herself from me.

Swiftly I move to the next picture, hoping for better memories to be triggered.

And they are. This is a picture of my love. _**Dramatic**_ make-up surrounding her gorgeous eyes. _**Crayons **_scattered around her, on the counter. Her scheming sister had kidnapped her for the day, forcing into one of her famous makeovers. My beautiful had insisted that she be able to draw what she thought she looked like, prior to looking in the mirror.

Her picture looked very close to a clown drawn by a four year old, nothing like her, and I loved it. I have always treasured it, and it hangs in my closet, for me to see daily.

I chuckled to myself as I turned yet another page. There we were again. This picture held bitter sweet memories. In it we were laying on a bed. She was resting comfortably on top of me; my hand was draped across her torso, my fingers slipping under the edge of her _**waists band**_.

It was yet another of those miraculous pictures my sister always seems to get, without my knowledge.

We were lying there, the night after our wedding, reveling in the closeness, taking our time, moving it slowly. It was more for her safety, and my sake, then lack of desire.

It was the day before her change, the day before I _**cursed**_ her to this life of eternal damnation. The last night of her humanity, of innocence.

The next picture was taken a day after the last. After her one demand had been fulfilled, I asked her if there was anything else she felt she must complete before changing. She thought for a grand total of ten 

seconds, before coming to the conclusion that she must have one final _**candy bar**_ before her change. I had run out, bought her, her favorite kind and sat, while she devoured it.

I loved looking through pictures like this. It helps me remember the good, and the bad. It recreates emotions, and I love every second of it.

I flipped onto the next picture. This one was taken a few years after she was changed. She had stubbornly insisted she be allowed to learn an instrument. I complied, and that is when she got this **guitar**. It was a classic acoustic guitar, with nothing special about it, but it is beautiful. The wood has been well maintained, and cared for. I wanted to buy her something nicer, but she had insisted, and I have a hard time refusing her anything.

The picture is of her playing freely on the couch in one of our former homes. Her hair is down, freely bouncing with the music. She looks so happy and content when she is playing, not burdened down by life and its hardships.

After I had fully soaked in this picture, imprinting it permanently in my memory, I turned the page.

Here we were on the beach, a private beach. I was lying in the sand, with her on top of me. We were situated so our legs were just hit each time the tide came in. The sun was setting, causing our skin to sparkle and reflect the sunlight. With the pink and orange sky behind us, and the unspoiled beach, it created they picture perfect scene. I wished this was how our life could be every day. A wonderful moment of bliss.

But the next picture showed just how much life changes. Here she is bandaged up, after a fight with some old 'friends'. But she has a huge grin plaster on her face in spite of it.

She is always looking for the silver lining, always finding some reason to wear a smile. Here she was beaming, and all for the idea of getting an excuse to see me more than the twenty-three hours she already does. But that's just another reason I love my wife.

I turned the page once more, but this time a picture fell out, onto my lap. I picked it up, and examined it. This one was older than the others, and yellowing at the edges. I was looking at the back, and it appeared blank, but with my enhanced vision I could see some of the faded writing.

The marvelous chicken scratch defiantly belonged to my wife, and had faded so far all I could read was the end, _Sept. 13. _I didn't even need to turn it over to be sure that it wasn't supposed to be in this book. This held no good memories, for either of us. This was from our dark ages. A time neither of us mentions willingly, even now.

I decided to not even turn this picture over. Some bad memories are better left buried. I silently slid it back into the book. And turned the page again.

I was struck with one of the most beautiful pictures ever taken. In it my wonderful wife was standing on a stage set of the famous balcony scene from _Romeo and Juliet._ She had been dared to audition, and 

convinced me to join her. She had done spectacularly and gotten the part of Juliet, easily. I thought my audition was shaky at best, but I still managed to take the part of Romeo. I love my wife in old fashion clothes. I love her in the modern, more revealing ones as well, but there is just something about a woman in a puffy dress, that I just find very attractive.

I hurriedly flipped onto the next picture, before my brother could question the sudden increase in my lust.

This photo was of my brothers and I. We had all just fallen into the ocean, and were sopping wet. My big, burly, goof-ball brother had fallen off our cruise ship, and had asked for help back on and ended up pulling the other two of us in with him. Our wives had refused to let us back on the ship, insisting we swim the remainder of the cruise. We all complied, none of us able to refuse them anything. It was my first cruise with my wife, and by far my favorite.

I continue on to the next page. Here I found more happy memories; they seem to becoming more frequent since the marriage.

This was another of those pictures I have no idea how they were taken. Here was my wife, in my favorite outfit, or lack thereof. She was dressed in my green boxers, and her blue bra. I remember this particular night, clearly. We had been interrupted in the middle of our alone time. She had thrown on the closest thing she could find, and looked stunning.

I looked at another page, and was reminded that not all memories were happy ones.

This was of my love, sobbing tearlessly, a look of shear pain across her pale face. It was the day she found out her dog had died. I knew she cared about him, they were best friends, but it still pained me to see her crying over him. She had refused comfort from our family, only speaking to me. She had taken her time, grieving in her own way, and was soon the joyful, happy, loving woman we all knew.

It was not fair. Here was a woman capable, caring, trustworthy, beautiful, the perfect package, and yet life has given, and continues to give her so much pain and suffering. She refuses, saying it is worth it for the good, but I still don't see why such a wonderful person must be punished in that way.

I knew if I didn't move on soon my brother would question my emotional rollercoaster.

I had turned the page, reaching the end of the album.

This final one held an entire family portrait. We were all standing together under the sparkling light of the moon. This was the only formal photo in the album. Everyone was standing with their spouse, yet unified as a family. It showed us united together forever, truly for eternity.


End file.
